A Hundred Ways to Die
by jazsqr
Summary: The Volturi needs a lesson taught in Forks, Washington, and they have just the right person for the contract. AU/AH
1. Prologue Another Path

**A/N:** Suffering a bit of a writer's block on my other story so decided to get this one out of my head to see how it reads. If the text looks familiar, I copied it right out of the book for effect (with a few modifications). I have no story outline, only character sketches, so even I don't know how this will turn out chapter to chapter. But there is a plot percolating behind this prologue. Let's just say that no characters are safe, graphic violence and languages galore, and no one is who you think they are or should be.

DISCLAIMER FOR THIS AND ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS: Twilight and all its characters (and especially most of the words in this prologue) are the properties of Stephenie Meyer. I'm just having a little fun.

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Prologue - Another Path

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically, and not for the first time. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading _front office_. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get my class schedule inside now instead of circling around to the student parking lot and running back in the rain. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front.

There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. A last minute new student transfer from Europe was probably big news in a tiny town like this.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. Covert ops were really not my forte, I was more of a scorched earth type of gal nowadays.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were like mine, nothing flashy. At least, I chuckled, on the outside. It would ensure that my nondescript black truck would not stand out in the lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, as I expected. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume of the turbo charged V12 wouldn't draw attention to me.

I tucked the map under my arm. It was unnecessary, since I had memorized both the school layout and duct systems by now. But I would probably need the map to pretend being lost in restricted areas. Key to a good disguise - authentic props. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. I just hoped no one pissed me off too badly. Pretending to be a teenager already sucked hard enough, I did not need to deal with hormonal teenage shit from actual teenagers. I only knew one way to solve problems, and somehow I didn't think the teachers or cops in this town would approve.

I breathed in the chilly morning air, savoring the drizzling mist tickling my skin. I saw the reddish brown hair moving through the crowd and allowed myself a grim humorless smile. Flipping open my cellphone, I texted my update.

_Infiltration in progress. Target sighted._

I shrugged my shoulders to adjust the heavy ass backpack back into position and started my way toward the school. As I walked, I allowed myself to be cheered by one optimistic thought. The sooner I killed Edward Cullen, the sooner I could drop this pretense and get the fuck out of this place.


	2. Mirror Darkly

**A/N: **Again, you will notice SM's words mixed into these early chapters. I really want to give a sense of eerie familiarity. Or just call it lazy writing:) The divergence will grow more pronounced in subsequent chapters.

I thank **amymorgan** for her beta work.

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Chapter 1 - Mirror Darkly

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My attire was common among my profession, plain in style and bland in color. Grey on grey, black on black, wrinkled and worn. The irony that my clothing collection resembled that of emo teenagers was not lost on me. However, it did allow me to blend in with the crowd fairly convincingly.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. _Okay, showtime_. I purposefully slouched my shoulders and adapted a more bumbling gait. I tried keeping the scowl off my face as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small.

The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blond, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here. You would think with all the trips I made to Italy, I would be sporting a persistent Mediterranean tan by now.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and I cursed again at the name I had to assume for this identity. Isabella Swan, _Jesus Christ. _Could Jenks have _chosen _a faker sounding name? It sounded like a porn star's name. The guy was an artist when it came to forging documents and creating new identities, but he really had no clue on what normal names are supposed to be. He probably did steal names out of porn flicks, that pervy bastard.

I had assumed so many false identities in the last few years, I barely even remembered what my birth name was. It didn't matter anyway. The only name that mattered was my professional name, the one I earned and paid for in blood.

_La Bella Morte_, the Beautiful Death.

That name was feared and respected in the underworld, whispered in reverence by my employers and cursed in vehemence by my targets.

Well, at least Baldy sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I pretended to be interested in the reading list Baldy had given me. I assumed that it was all standard high school fare: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I wouldn't know, since I never had the normal school going experience. I had been too busy being knee deep in bodies to bone up on High School Chem. I wondered if Jenks was any good with writing essays. Not what I usually contract him for, but he probably could churn out something decent if the money was right. Being a lawyer must mean he was good at writing, right? I wondered if he was going to try to bill me by the hour or by the word while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang at last, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me. He had what was obviously meant to be a flirty smile on his face and a swagger to his walk. God damn it. I made sure not to wear any make up and kept my hair messy and unstyled, and still I attracted unwanted attention. Should've gone with the face prosthetics kit. A wort or two strategically placed usually warded off any focus on my face. In my experience, people tended to try harder to ignore ugliness. Obviously I have underestimated the horniness of the teen population.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Yes?" I responded. S_till hated the name, what was I, a Disney princess?_ Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked with way too much enthusiasm.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. Shit, I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn't think this town was _this _starved for gossip.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely horny. "I'm Eric," he added.

I forced my lips into the semblance of a smile. "Thanks." I might as well try to integrate myself into the general population. If I was stand-offish it might just fuel their curiosity.

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could tell several people behind us were deliberately walking close enough to eavesdrop. I nearly smirked at their feeble attempt at being "covert." I had played cat and mouse with Interpol for a year in Europe, I knew how to spread misinformation. I kept my pace steady as if I hadn't noticed.

"So, this is a lot different than Italy, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?" _The weather? Talk about going for generic small talk topic number one._

"Not as much as here, I'm sure"

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him, starting to get irritated by his idiocy. Forget the chess club, the guy was definitely a pothead.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino," I snarked, and instantly regretted it. Never be sarcastic or funny...people remembered a sarcastic or funny person better.

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. I better kill Edward Cullen soon. A few weeks of this and I might put a bullet through my own brain.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked. Obviously the kid was infatuated. Well, maybe I could use that to my advantage later.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. Seriously, if he was still making a play for me despite all the signals I just put out, he was either clueless or desperate. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I played up the part of the awkward foreigner, stammering and fidgeting through the introduction, I even pretended to trip over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I felt like I was on some media tour, being paraded around from camera to camera being asked the same set of inane questions. This was worse than being held by the Qing family after that hit went bad.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my deceptively harmless looking five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. At least she didn't sound as stupid as that pothead.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, since they didn't matter. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, the pothead, waved at me from across the room. Mmm...I changed my mind, the kid was probably a cokehead, only they could have so much nervous energy all the time.

It was there, sitting in the noisy and smelly lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven annoying teenagers, that I finally saw them.

They were sitting in the far corner of the cafeteria. Smart, as they had line of sight on the entire room with their backs against the wall. It also meant they were as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. I guessed I lucked out on where I chose to sit, since I could observe them unnoticed.

There were five of them, the Intel was right on the money. Two of them were engaged in an animated conversation. Well, one of them was animated, gesturing widely with her slender hands, the other just seemed to passively listen and nod periodically between bites of his sandwich. The other three weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, as their eyes continued to scan across the entire room.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — steroid fueled muscles with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. He was too far away for me to see it, but I knew he had a thin scar over his left eyebrow and another cutting across his lips. A little reminder from his tour in Afghanistan. The one eating was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. _There's my paycheck._

Edward Cullen, otherwise known as Edward Anthony Masen, Jr. Son of Edward Masen, Sr. from the Donovan Family in Chicago. I was surprised by how different he looked from the photos I had. Granted, it's been a year since those pictures were taken, but the year has certainly been outrageously good to him. I was trying to reconcile the young Adonis sitting there with the static images of the scrawny kid with the thick Buddy Holly glasses and a mouth full of metal I had been studying for the past few days. If not for the distinctive bronze hair, I would've had a hard time recognizing him.

He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students. Of course, I smirked, there's a good reason for that. They were both frauds, just like me.

Jasper Whitlock and Emmett McCarty...US Marshals. I almost felt sympathy for them. After all, they had to endure the same agony that I now faced, exiled in teenage hell. Of course, just because I felt their pain didn't mean I wouldn't pour bullets into them if I had to. Hopefully, it won't come to that.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. Marshal Rosalie Hale was really too pretty to be a lawman. I could just imagine how many boys in this school jerked off to a mental image of her every night. Urgh, actually, better not imagine that. A fierce expression marred the perfection of her face, one of those withering looks that could castrate any man caught in the sights.

I could certainly relate to her need to look like a hard-boiled bitch. Being a woman in the circles we traveled in was tough, being a beautiful woman was damn near impossible. She probably felt the need to be twice as scary as the men just to be taken half as seriously. Again, I hoped it won't be necessary to take her out, but the choice was really going to be up to her. If she puts herself in my path, then I would need to remove her from the equation.

The short girl with too much energy was pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with delicate features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. Unlike her older brother, Mary Alice Masen appeared not to have undergone some magical metamorphosis from the school pictures I had. Her hair was shorter, but otherwise she looked pretty much the same as her photos.

The two blonds and Muscles were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular. They were nonchalant about it, but to the trained eye, they might as well have held up signs that said "Body Guards, Here." As I watched, the Tinker Bell rose with her tray and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. She dumped her tray and glided through the back door, with Scars following closely at her heels.

My eyes darted back to the others, Malibu Barbie was sitting closest to my paycheck, her back pressed into his side, her clear blue eyes constantly watching the crowd. Steroids sat on the other side. By the way he was shifting, I could tell he was carrying a concealed piece. I wondered where Barbie hid hers in that skimpy outfit she was wearing.

I suddenly noticed the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I'd forgotten, had caught me looking. I decided to cover myself by feigning interest in gossip. "Who are _they_?" I asked.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly Paycheck looked at her. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his bright eyes flickered to mine. He looked away quickly, and seemed to slouch further into his seat to hide himself from my sight behind Malibu Barbie.

My neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie. The ones who left were Alice and Jasper. They enrolled a few weeks before you did, actually." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the mark, who was still hiding behind the marshal. Steroids was talking to him now, taking his attention off of the room. They were speaking too quietly for me to hear, but from the giant smile on Muscles' face, I couldn't imagine it was anything too serious. But whatever was said, it seemed to be about my table, as Barbie suddenly shifted her icy blue eyes toward me. I quickly looked away and ignored her glare.

"They are…very nice-looking," I commented, explaining away my earlier focus.

"Yes!" she agreed with another giggle, buying my lie. "They're all together though — Edward and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean." She pouted in disappointment as she relayed the news. I blinked in surprise, as this was one aspect of their cover story I did not know. Now that I thought about it, it was a brilliant cover. What better way to stick close to your assignment than pretending you were a couple.

"So what's their story?" I asked, now curious if there were any other details of which I was not aware.

"Well, they all live _together, _with Dr. Cullen and his wife," she said under her breath, her tone meant to convey a sense of impropriety of such a situation. I wasn't too surprised, having dealt with the small mindedness of small town cultures during my time in Volterra.

"Emmett, Edward, and Alice are siblings. From what I heard, they're Dr. Cullen's nephews and niece. Rosalie and Jasper are twins, and they are Mrs. Cullen's younger cousins. Apparently Dr. Cullen's brother and Mrs. Cullen's aunt were both going overseas on business around the same time, and none of their kids wanted to go abroad to finish high school. Dr. Cullen offered them a place to stay here. I heard his house is _huge._"

"That's really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that," I observed. In fact, Giggles here probably couldn't comprehend just the true depth of Carlisle and Esme Cullen's kindness. The good doctor was only a distant relative of the Masens. Yet, he allowed the kids to hide here in his home when shit went down. That was pretty ballsy of him.

"I guess so," Giggles admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at the table, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

"Have the Cullens always lived in Forks?" I asked, trying to extend the conversation.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of satisfaction. Obviously they were not as well situated here as I feared. Give a few more days for my novelty to wear off, and all the attention will be once again focused on them, allowing me more freedom to act.

As I subtly turned back to examine them, the mark peeked out from behind Barbie's shoulder and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked, hoping to get more information on Paycheck's cover. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly nervous expression. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. As they say, all the gorgeous guys are either taken or gay. Don't waste your time. I mean, just look at Rosalie! And she's so possessive, too. She's always hovering around him. No girl has dared to talk to him with her around." Giggles sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes.

I bit my lip to hide my snort. Then I glanced at him again.

His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared flushed. The red was very prominent against his pale skin, even from across the room. Looked like Paycheck was a blusher.

After a few more minutes, the three of them left the table together. Interestingly, he had none of the grace his sister exhibited. There was an awkwardness to his steps as he kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. Barbie kept herself glued to his side while Steroids walked behind him.

I sat at the table with Giggles and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. One of my new acquaintances, who wore a pair of white rimmed glasses, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. Luckily, Glasses was shy, so I did not have to endure any more inane chatter.

When we entered the classroom, Glasses went to sit at a black-topped lab table. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, my Paycheck was hunched over the desk, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Beside him was the single open seat. Barbie and Steroids were sitting in the table behind him.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — sort of like a deer caught in the headlights.

The teacher, Mr. Banner, was a jovial old man with a prominent belly. He signed my slip, and with no nonsense about introductions, handed me a book . I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, better to hide the triumphant smile threatening to break out on my face.

Here. We. Go.

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**A/N**: I had a blast writing this chapter. The nicknames actually serve a purpose beyond just humor here. Bella doesn't think of people by name, as she tends to dehumanize them since she may have to kill them to achieve her objectives. Please feel free to offer any other nicknames you think applies to the Twilight characters and I may use them in future chapters.


	3. Hunters and Targets

**A****/****N****:** After a long hiatus, I've decided to update this story. Again, you will notice text from Twilight in this chapter. I openly admit this was done deliberately as this story is meant to be a twist on the original canon.

**amymorgan** helped beta this crack fic.

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Chapter 2 - Hunters and Targets

Rule number one, make the target come to you.

I purposely didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat without saying hello to the mark, but I saw his posture grow even more tense from the corner of my eye. He was trying to hide it, but his slow and deliberate breathing gave away his nerves. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, creating a barrier between us. I wanted him to make the first move. That way Barbie and Steroids wouldn't get too suspicious about me. My cover would hold up to a pretty extensive background check, but there was no reason to put it to the test.

I pretended to focus on the lecture while keeping my attention on Paycheck. During the whole class he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair. About halfway into the lesson, his left leg started to shake. He clamped his hand over his thigh to keep the movement to a minimal, but couldn't stop it completely. The tendons stood out under his pale skin from the strain. I allowed myself a small smirk, hidden behind my curtain of hair. Looked like my presence was affecting him even more than I hoped.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. I waited for him to speak, but he never did. I peeked at him once more, this time catching his eyes. His emerald eyes grew wide in fear when our eyes met, and quickly darted away to look out the window. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, and Paycheck was out of his seat and halfway out the door before anyone else reacted. Muscles and Blondie got up and followed him a heartbeat later. Barbie shot me a withering look as she passed. I gave her my hapless innocent look, complete with a subtle shrug of my shoulders. She narrowed her eyes in a show of intimidation before moving on.

That's right, Barbie, I'm just another ditsy girl with a harmless crush. Nothing to see here.

Once they were out of the room, I slowly gathered my things while I processed the encounter. I was rather surprised by how shy and reserved Paycheck was. I was sure he would've at least tried to talk to me. I guess I miscalculated. This was going to take a little longer than I anticipated. I may have to rethink my approach.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a too friendly way.

"I'm Mike," Babyface announced.

"Hi, Mike." I kept my tone neutral. Not encouraging, but not hostile either.

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed just a little too thrilled by the news. Great, another one. Why couldn't the other boys in this school come down with a case of Paycheck's shyness?

We walked to class together, there was really no way of avoiding it since we were heading to the same destination. To my annoyance, Babyface was a chatterer. He just wouldn't shut up - where he used to live, what classes he was taking. By the end I was ready to strangle him just for a bit of peace and quiet.

"So, sorry you got stuck with Cullen. Don't know what Rosalie sees in the guy."

That caught my attention. A good hunter never passed up a chance for intel on her target.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked with feigned curiosity. "He seemed...quiet."

"Yeah," he said. "Lots of girls go crazy for him. Frankly, I don't get the appeal. The guy's a freak."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

"Trust me, he's weird. Never talks to anyone outside of his family. Besides, Rosalie is the super jealous type. She'll ripe your hair out if you even think about talking to Cullen."

Baby face lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I avoided rolling my eyes at the terrible line until after I walked through the girls' locker room door. No need to alienate a source of information. You never knew when you can use the attraction to your advantage.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. It was a good thing too, because while the shirt was modest enough to cover the bullet scars above my left shoulder, the shorts would've revealed the old knife wound on my calf. I had gotten it from a mark's bodyguard during a job in Denmark. Would have to remember to cover it up with make up before school next time.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Both Cokehead and Babyface were on the court. When they saw me looking in their direction, they seemed to puff out their chest or straighten their postures. Did that ever attracted anyone? Ever?

The final bell rang at last. I walked to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I tucked my hands into my pockets and picked up my pace.

When I walked into the warm office, an unpleasant surprise was waiting for me.

She stood at the desk facing away from me, but I recognized her immediately from her blond hair and petite frame. She was talking with the large red-head from this morning, something about her class schedule. For a second I had hoped I was imagining things, that I was wrong. Then she turned slightly so I could see her profile. The pale skin, the haughty nose. There was no mistake.

Shit, I hate being right all the time.

Jane Lior was one half of the "Gruesome Twosome," a pair of teenage freelancers originally from Romania. Her partner, Alec Dragomir, bored a striking resemblance to Jane, which was why they often posed as brother and sister. Their cover earned them another street name, "the Twins." I always thought the imagery was rather creepy, considering the rumor that Jane and Alec were lovers.

Not much is known about the two prior to their first hit for the Russian mob, where they took out Joseph Borodin's crew in a violent and public display. I did a little bit of homework on them when our paths crossed in Cyprus about a year ago. I was tracking an ex-enforcer for the Volturi who decided to rip off his bosses when the Twins got to him first. I showed up in time to see the results of their handiwork.

They had tortured the man, badly. His body was mutilated almost beyond recognition and completely drained of blood. It was brutal, even by my standards. I decided I needed to know more about the two. A good hunter kept track of her competition, especially dangerous ones like these two.

I tracked their history back to a state-run orphanage in Bucharest. Given some of the horror stories around child slavery I'd heard in that region, I could only imagine what happened to them to turn them into such twisted killers. To not only survive, but thrive at the top of food chain at such a young age, they had to be as ruthless and merciless as they come. One thing was for sure, they had no loyalty to anyone except each other. They took any job as long as the money was right. Butchery was their calling card, thus the notorious nickname. It was obvious to me that killing wasn't just a profession for them, it was a source of pleasure.

Psycho Girl finally noticed that I was standing there. I tried to keep a neutral expression and avoided eye contact, hoping to pass for another meek and harmless teenager. In my peripheral vision I saw the large red head hand her a piece of paper. Psycho Girl snatched the sheet out of her hands, ignoring the indignant noise from behind the counter and turned to walk toward me.

I kept my head down as she passed. I could feel her eyes piercing into me. The intensity of the gaze sent goosebumps up my arms. She didn't break her stride when she brushed by me and exited through the door. I didn't even realize how tense I was until I noticed how tightly I was clenching my fists. If she was here, Alec could not be far away. They always operated as a pair. It was what made them so deadly.

I went to the desk and handed the receptionist my slip. It was a crumbled mess from being crushed in my hand.

"How did your first day go, dear?" she asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied. She didn't look convinced. I must be more shaken then I thought if even a school receptionist saw through my facade.

When I got to my truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. I sat inside for a while, trying to process the unforeseen developments of the day. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to base, a grim determination settled within me.

There was only one reason why the psycho twins would be in this place. Looks like this job just got a whole lot more complicated.


End file.
